Uncontrollable

I have always envied Hole Diggers. Someone whose job it is to dig 6 holes. They dig 8, drop the mic, and leave work early. The ask and offer is incredibly clear. I used to love Maths at school. Yes, Mrs Chick used to tease me about going via Cape Town to a solution, but it was either right or wrong. And she could show me the short cuts. Mr Lichkus and I would go head to head in epic battles in the Art Room. I had to lean into chaos. I once let my classmates have an hour to do whatever they wanted to my piece. Flames and burnt plastic followed. As I coughed and sneezed black stuff from my nose during the next period in English class (similarly ambiguous), I did have a break through on reflection. Much harder won. In the Investment world people pretend it’s maths. That their track record points to their success. Except when that track record disappears. Then it is church, or art class, or English. Anything with wiggle room. Ambiguity provides space for BS. It also provides space for beauty. In the eye of the beholder, and in the control of the beholden.

Fire and Earth